Five Days
by tek
Summary: Post-RE6, one-shot. Sometimes putting on a brave face was the hardest part.


**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Day 1**

Chris had seen a lot of things in his life.

He'd witnessed dead people walk and subsequently tear his friends limb from lim; seen actual monsters leap from the darkness and barely miss ending his life; been almost blown up and shot at; witnessed betrayal and the face it belonged to; he knew sacrifice, loss, devastation, and death better than he knew happiness.

Therapists and adrenaline had both taught him ways around breakdowns, but for the most part Chris learned to deal with his emotions accordingly; filing them away until it was appropriate (or safe) to cope. He was good at this compartmentalizing of actions and reactions for later or forgetting about them entirely, which made it easier not to flinch when death and destruction were imminent.

But one look at Jill, and his coping mechanisms crumbled.

After the doctors had cleared him and he had been de-briefed (after he had washed the blood and ache from his body), he had been ushered into a bunker with Leon where his eyes had shut and the next thing he knew, it was after 2 PM the following day and one of the advisors for the BSAA's Eastern branch was telling him they needed a statement and an official report of everything that had happened. For a split second, he had deliberated exercising his rank and refusing to do anything until someone let him call home. And then there she was, standing in the doorway with her arms folded tightly across her chest in a stance that radiated power, and the advisor had left without another word.

It took her all of five seconds to assess just how bad it was, because even though he had already started the process of filing the last six months away (or what he could remember of it), Jill just knew. She always knew.

He realized when her eyes softened and a deep frown creased her face that he wasn't faring as well as he thought. She stepped into the bunker, stopping a few inches from where he sat on the edge of the standard issue cot.

"Hi, soldier."

Her hair was longer. She looked thinner - strong, but smaller still. Circles weighed heavily around her eyes, as they had so many years before when this had all just been a nightmare.

But her voice was the same, and it was her words that broke him.

He opened his mouth to reply, but the response turned into a heavy rasp for air he tried to cover with a cough. The door slammed shut behind her and she slid the tiny lock into place before turning to step toward him again. His arms encircled her, holding her body against his as if she was the only thing that could save him. She was the only thing that could save him. He squeezed tighter, pressing his forehead against the fading scar on her chest.

"Shh..." Her legs fell on either side of his torso, pinning him beneath her as she ran her fingers gently through his hair - careful to avoid the scrapes and bruises adorning his skin.

His mouth moved against the exposed skin of her chest and he choked again, arms tightening an already deathlike grip. She didn't know if it was to keep her close to him or to keep her from looking at him. Probably both. Chris wasn't embarrassed easily, but she could count the times she had witnessed him cry - _really cry_ - on one hand, and she was sure it was something he didn't want to make a habit of now.

"I have to go." The words fell out of his mouth clumsily as he struggled to regain composure.

"They can wait."

His eyes burned. There were questions he had to find answers for; things he had to be accountable for because he was the only one left.

He wondered when survivor had come to mean murderer.

* * *

**Day 2**

He placed the phone back on its receiver, resting his forehead against the refurbished cement wall. Claire crying had always made him feel queasy and weak; it was a reminder of his failures as an older brother. Even if her tears this time around were from relief, he was the cause. He was always the cause, and he hadn't even remembered her.

"Is she alright?"

He nodded, blinking away the sting rising to his eyes.

"She's okay," his jaw was set, gaze firm. "I didn't see the need to worry her more. She's expecting a call from you whenever you get the chance."

"Thank you."

"For not mentioning Ada or for not shooting you?"

"Both." The agent shrugged, brushing off the derision.

"She's not stupid. The BSAA is working to get TerraSave the intel they need. She's going to know eventually."

"I'm aware," Leon refrained from biting back, instead letting Chris make him the enemy. The guy looked like a total wreck. "Where's Jill?"

"Debriefing."

"You want to grab a beer?"

"Are we even cleared to leave?"

"Does it matter?"

He shrugged on his bomber jacket, for once appreciating Leon's disregard for BSAA protocol.

* * *

**Day 3**

_WHACK!_

The table shuddered and Chris heard a bottle topple over and roll before it shattered against the bare floor of the bunker. He sat up, rubbing the top of his head furiously and throwing the dropped card onto the table. Leon was trying to keep a serious face; his mouth drawn in a thin line, the corners turning up every few seconds as he battled the alcohol for composure.

"I'm glad you guys are enjoying yourselves."

Chris turned toward the entryway, suddenly remembering the sound of the door opening was why he had risen so quickly in the first place.

"Just killin' some time." He frowned at the slur. He was definitely drunk.

Her eyebrow arched and Chris only broke eye contact as Leon's chair scraped against the floor.

"Uh, I fold? Good game." He tossed his cards to the table and stumbled from the room, placing as much distance between himself and Jill as he could before shutting the door back.

Chris shrugged, reaching for the discarded hand to compare it to his.

"Fucker owes me $20."

Jill rolled her eyes, pulling the vacant chair toward her and sitting down to face Chris. He stayed silent, fidgeting with the deck of cards. Her anger was fading slowly, despite the knot still weighing in her stomach from the hours he had been MIA with Leon. His disappearance was too fresh, but she had no right to question his actions. She knew all too well that rationality could be foe rather than friend.

"I'm sorry."

She placed a hand over his, stroking his battered knuckles with the pad of her thumb.

"They're all dead."

"I know."

"He's dead."

Her heart broke.

He shuffled the cards.

* * *

**Day 4**

Jill was known for her composure - it was one of the things Chris loved most about her. His temper was like a powder keg in a burning building, and he needed her to balance him out (or keep him in line, depending on the situation). But everyone has their limits, and when her open palm connected with his cheek, Chris was neither phased or surprised.

"He has a son? And you didn't see fit to inform me of that?"

He remained still, hoping his lack of sudden movement would serve to lessen her aggravation. The BSAA agents filtering through the lobby made no effort to hide their interest.

Chris threw his arms up and waved them along. "We just contained a fucking outbreak and _this_ is what you people are staring at?"

"Answer me, Christopher."

"No."

"No what?"

"No, I didn't think it was necessary to tell you that Wesker had a fuckin' kid, alright?"

"Or that he shot you?"

"He didn't shoot me. He shot near me," Jill's eyes lit with fury, and he realized technicalities were probably not an appropriate excuse. He lowered his voice substantially. "I just didn't know how you would react considering -"

She put her hand up and he closed his mouth, catching the flicker of pain on her face. Her eyes squeezed shut and her hand fell to her hip. He could tell from her posture there was a battle waging between her head and heart and suddenly he was on a helicopter flying over the desert watching her fall apart all over again.

He moved forward and she put her hand up, halting him in place.

"Just - just give me a minute, okay?"

No contact until she could forget whatever it was she had remembered. It happened, sometimes, but it never made it easier to watch.

"I just wish you would have told me and not someone else."

"No one was supposed to tell you."

"Did you honestly think that was going to work?" She brushed a few blonde strands from her eyes. "Have you seen the kid? It's like looking at a ghost."

An elevator to their left opened before he could respond, and he watched as Leon and Sherry exited, a surly looking blond trailing closely behind and listening intently. He made eye contact as they passed by, and Chris half-expected his eyes to turn the color of ash and ember. When they didn't, he felt guilt instead of relief.

"He's not his father."

He was collateral damage like the rest of them.

* * *

**Day 5**

Chris loved to fly planes, not fly in planes. He hated being a passenger, resigned to remaining still without any control. It was foreign nature to him, despite the fact he hadn't regularly flown a plane in nearly two decades. His last memory of playing pilot had been marred by the muffled sobs of his little sister and the unsettling chill that lingered in his spine at the thought of Antarctica.

The BSAA's private flight service was nothing more than a glorified cargo plane. Uncomfortable was an understatement, but it got them where they needed to be safely and without the worried looks from other passengers. He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to ease the stiffness brought on by the long flight. He needed a pain killer, a month's worth of rest, and the keys to his own house because he had lost those somewhere between Edonia and amnesia. He followed Jill to the front door, trying to analyze his surroundings the best he could in the dark.

"Who cut the grass?"

"Me."

He nodded, because of course she had. Jill was capable without him; she was a survivor in Raccoon and in Kijuju and now. He was just thankful there had been no lawn to worry about the three years he spent holed up in a coma of self-loathing and guilt after her death.

The house smelled faintly of citrus and he breathed deeply, remembering what it was like to be in a home rather than a bar that reeked of cigarettes and alcohol - or racing through a war-torn city inhaling gunpowder and death. Jill flipped the lights on and his eyes burned momentarily, adjusting to the brightness of their home. Nothing had changed and yet everything was different.

"The house stays cleaner when you aren't around." Her voice was quiet, too tired to put energy behind the joke.

He looked down at his boots, kicking them off before stepping onto the carpet. "Better?"

"Much."

He followed her through the foyer and into the living the room, fingers trailing over any surface he passed. It was weird, how much he realized he took the simple things for granted. He savored every moment with Jill, but cookie cutter homes and freshly cut grass were not something he was thankful for on the regular. They were perks, background noise to what mattered most.

"Are you hungry?"

He looked up from the photo he hadn't realized he had been staring at. A double-sided frame with a photo from S.T.A.R.S. and one from the BSAA; it had been one of Jill's steps forward. He turned it face down to keep from counting how many people were dead.

"I'm not." He whispered, clearing his throat and heading for the couch. He felt dizzy and weak, breaking under the weight of more tombstones.

She was there as he collapsed into the cushions, arms around him and cradling him the best she could for her size against his. He almost laughed at how ridiculous it must have looked, thinking of the times he had seen her take down men his size and larger, of the times she had knocked him on his ass before he could even blink.

But could she bear the weight of his failures?

"Don't."

He turned his head, face scraping against her shoulder and the stiff leather of the couch. She was staring at him intently, blue eyes alive with a fire he knew all too well.

"What?"

"Question my ability to deal with this," her voice was demanding, even in a whisper. "I spent six months looking for you. I know what you're thinking. Cut the shit."

"If I had known -"

"But you didn't."

"If I could've -"

"But you can't."

He pulled back and her grip loosened from his torso, hands resting against his chest, palming his heartbeat. He rested his forehead against hers, choking out a sob as his brain relentlessly tried and failed to tally the time and lives lost.

"_Jill._" He said it with so much pain and desperation, she felt like she had literally been shot. There was a burning in her stomach and heart, an internal shredding and tearing that took her breath for a few seconds as she regained composure.

She lunged forward at him, capturing his lips forcefully as she climbed into his lap. He responded without hesitation, pushing her underneath him with one arm as he pinned her arms above her head with the other. They barely broke for air, tongues and teeth gnashing together as he took whatever she gave him. His hands raked over her, pulling and scratching and kneading in all the right places, until he finally pulled away, chest heaving and cheeks flushed under the days old stubble. She waited for him to take it a step further, to give him whatever kind of assurance or contact he needed to fill in the missing pieces from the last six months, but he hovered above her, dark eyes locked with hers.

"Hi." He finally said, voice a little stronger and eyes a little brighter.

She smiled, using her now free hands to frame his face. "Hi."

"I'm home."

"You're home." She repeated back to him, leaning up to kiss him again. This time it was softer, more intimate and less desperate, but full of love all the same.

He settled against her, resting his head against the crook of her neck. She could feel his heartbeat thudding against her, slowing down as his body finally relaxed for the first time in six months. When his breaths came steady against her skin and she knew he had fallen asleep, she finally let the tears come, because sometimes putting on a brave face was the hardest part.

* * *

**Author's Note: So this is the post-RE6 oneshot I was talking about. I started it shortly after Alive Out of Habit was finished, but life happened and then November was spent doing NaNoWriMo, and I finally got a chance to come back to this. I'm not even sure where most of this came from, other than I just had these bits and pieces of scenarios in my mind and I kind of pieced them together in this "first five days after Edonia" sort of timeline. I know it's not much, but it's something! As always, thank you for reading and please review.**


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